Shore Leave
by ED of Oblivion
Summary: Written for LJ’s STXI Kink Meme. Chekov makes himself comfortable on the first day of shore leave. Kirk/Chekov friendship.


**Title:** Shore Leave

**Fandom:** _Star Trek (XI)_

**Rating:** G (K)

**Pairing:** Kirk/Chekov (friendship)

**Word count:** 939

**Summary:** Chekov makes himself comfortable on the first day of shore leave.

**Warnings:** Fluff and shortness.

**Notes:** Written for a prompt on LJ's STXI Kink Meme, which asked for Chekov sitting on someone's lap. (This is also the first Trek fic I'd ever written. I'm slowly getting more confident in writing for this fandom, so apologies for any errors or hesitancies on my part and thanks for bearing with me.)

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_**Shore Leave**_

"_Dr. McCoy is correct, Captain. After what this ship has been through in the last three months, there is not a crewman onboard who is not in need of rest. Myself excepted, of course."_ –Spock (_Star Trek_, episode 15, "Shore Leave")

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Shore leave couldn't have come at a better time.

After a series of unfortunate incidents that resulted in the _Enterprise_ being shipped out on a series of seemingly never-ending missions, the entire crew was itching for some leave time. Even Commander Spock seemed to be showing minute signs of stress, Chekov noticed. Half-Vulcan or not, he supposed, even the finest and most curious minds needed a break from work.

In any case, it didn't matter now. Shore leave had finally arrived and Pavel Chekov would finally get some rest and some vodka.

By the time he arrived at the bar it was clear that most of the crew had been there awhile. Scotty and Sulu were already engaged in a drinking game, it seemed, and the doctor and Lt. Uhura were making casual conversation, with the captain occasionally adding quips of his own while Spock simply observed. Chekov grabbed his drink from the bar and made his way over to the table, swaying lightly between the crowds of patrons. Kirk soon caught sight of him and waved him over.

"Chekov!" the captain called as he got closer. "Good to see you. Glad to be off the ship?"

"Wery glad, sir," Chekov answered. "I vas just sinking I needed some good rest. It has only been a few months, after all."

Kirk laughed. "Good to hear it, Chekov. Well, pull up a chair and join the party. We'll be here a while yet, I can tell."

The Russian nodded, looking around, only to find that there were no empty chairs in sight. The bar was rather packed; he would have to settle for standing, but he found he didn't really mind. He was among friends, after all.

Time tended to fly in bars, he noticed. Chekov was already lightly buzzed when Kirk finally glanced back in his direction, blinking when he found the navigator still standing where he was before.

"Don't feel like sitting?" he quipped lightly.

Chekov shrugged. "Zere are no chairs, sir," he said, gesturing around him. "It's alright, I vill stand. Do not vorry, Keptin, I am fine!" But Kirk was already shaking his head, a smirk growing on his face.

"No, no, we can't have that," he said, setting his drink down and turning out towards Chekov. "My crew always comes first. Have a seat, Ensign." The captain patted his thigh invitingly.

The navigator blinked. "Sir?"

"Come sit on papa's lap, buddy," came the teasing restatement, accompanied by a joking smile. Sitting beside him, Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Captain," the half-Vulcan began, "may I remind you that as a starship commander, there are certain–"

"Oh _relax_, Spock!" Kirk laughed, waving his first officer off. "I wasn't going to do anything. Just trying to be nice, you know?" He turned back to Chekov. "Honestly, Chekov, I wasn't trying to coerce you or anything. I promise."

The navigator smiled. "It's alright, Keptin. Sank you!"

Kirk nodded, content that he had the kid's understanding. He looked away, ready to tune back in to whatever Bones and Uhura were talking about, when suddenly a weight was filling his lap. He hadn't really thought the Russian would actually take him up on his offer, but he had – Chekov plopped down rather nonchalantly, wriggling a bit until he found a comfortable position.

The boy looked back at him. "Is this alright, Keptin?"

"Yeah," Kirk answered. Having gotten over the initial surprise, he was now quite comfortable with the situation. "You're fine, Chekov." The Russian nodded gratefully, returning his attention to the glass of vodka in his hand.

Kirk glanced over at Spock with a look that screamed, "I didn't _make_ him do anything; stop looking at me like that," to which the half-Vulcan replied with another arched eyebrow before resuming the sipping of his tea.

The rest of the evening was completely relaxing. (At least Chekov thought so.) From his place on the captain's lap, he and Mr. Scott put Sulu's drinking skills to shame through a drinking game involving a series of quickly-downed shots, discussed the latest starship navigation technology with Mr. Spock, and attempted to convince Doctor McCoy that mint juleps were actually invented in Russia (rather unsuccessfully, as it turned out).

At one point Chekov rose to refill his now empty glass of vodka, causing Kirk's arm – which at some point earlier had eventually wound its way around him – to fall off his waist. The captain nodded to him as he left, feeling an odd sort of emptiness once the navigator had left. Not even a minute later, however, the kid was back, flopping back lazily into his lap and leaning back against his chest. Kirk chuckled lightly, winding a protective arm back around Chekov's waist.

"Getting sleepy?" Kirk asked, taking in his crewmember's appearance.

"No, Keptin, I…" Chekov slurred lightly. "I am fine. I vill be fine. Just going to relax for a bit…"

"Whatever you say," Kirk said with a smile, shrugging and sipping lightly at his drink.

Not twenty minutes later, the activity in the bar was winding down and Chekov was struggling to keep his eyes open. The captain was right – perhaps he just needed some sleep. Without really thinking about it, he leaned back into the warmth behind him, sighing contentedly when he felt a gentle rubbing on his belly. Chekov tilted his head slightly, unconsciously turning his face into Kirk's neck. He let loose a soft yawn before closing his eyes completely, allowing sleep to overtake him.

When he awoke the next morning, warm and well in his own quarters, Pavel Chekov knew it was going to be a fantastic two weeks.


End file.
